


Second Opinion

by peoriapeoria



Series: The Private Casebook of J.H.W. [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first diagnosis isn't always right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Opinion

It is most unfortunate that the truth is not always liberating. I think this was a lesson Holmes taught me first. I could have done without a demonstration in our personal life. My happy marking of his thirtieth birthday revealed that he wasn't even as old as I had thought him to be when we had first broken natural law. It felt as if the world was slipping from under me.

Holmes was alarmed, and he grabbed for my wrist. I needed to keep what little wits I retained. "You were twenty-three." Those are the only words I can swear to, and they were damning. I could not get away from that fact.

Holmes, of course, made light of it. I should have taken him at face value when he had called it an experiment. I told him my thoughts, inchoate as they were, that he didn't know women, he'd been caught in the sensations, that it was a lie.

He tried reasoning with me, looking at me with smoky grey eyes. I needed to be strong. Holmes can be entirely too pleasing when he chooses. He cut me off. His words were sharp, as keen as I'd ever heard him turn against a scoundrel. What burnt me was his profession of love.

He had never used that word before without a sneer, referring to the motives of other people. I saw him belatedly react to his use of it now, startled perhaps more than myself. He pressed his case further, with a question I could answer only one way. He led me from the sitting room, and, I noticed in my emotional haze, not his to room but mine. Its seclusion is more apparent than actual, though it is perhaps the most proof against overhearing.

I had thought Holmes had exerted himself to close his long celibacy. Now it was clear that I had presented excessive opportunity to a man eager and disdainful of any natural object for those impulses. Sadly, had I not confronted him after the garden, thinking to meet him and ease the way, he would not have followed. I saw confirmation in his eyes.

And yet he dissembled. He has the most extraordinary dash, and it was exceptionally easy to join him in the pretense. I can't say which was more delightful, Holmes a dewy maid, or that lass enjoining combat. Utterly preposterous the both of them.

It was but a few days before I allowed Holmes to tempt me back to his bed. I was resolute against his wooing words, knowing he will say anything when his will is obstructed. I did not expect him to start undressing.

"Watson, take off your clothes."

I was still shocked by his clinical disrobing, that while I heard the words and could remember them, I didn't understand their meaning. I looked down at his hand holding mine over a button. "Come to bed."

I hastily stripped, my gaze fixed to Holmes. Extremely angular, he should not have been so fluid, so enchanting at such a prosaic task. He made it look effortless, taking off his clothes as if he were alone. He stood by the thrown open bed impatient and proud, arms folded as if he wasn't naked. Shedding the last of my clothes, I walked over more awkwardly. I took my seat on the edge of his bed.

I had missed this deeply, his heat and passion, being known so intimately. There must have been a chill in the room but I don't think either of us felt it. I pulled Holmes closer, he straddling my legs as he kissed me into euphoria. He had drifted dangerously low when I next noticed.

"No." I held him against my stomach by the neck. He said nothing; the rubbing thumb was more than enough entreaty. "Holmes," I pulled myself back in the bed, "I cannot let you do that."

I should have known it would not rest there. Quite outside his ordinary habits, Holmes made the attempt whenever he thought I was sufficiently distracted, in which he was most accomplished. Resisting was not easy.

When I thought we were nearly of an age, his desires gave me but little pause beyond that they happily meshed with my own. Now aware how scant a chance he'd given to womankind, his receptivity worried me. Had I warped him, unseasoned with other pleasures?

I offered to reciprocate, though I could scarcely imagine so using my mouth. I think it would perhaps be easier to grant Holmes' other predilection, if only he would take complete charge and hold me firm throughout. What possessed him in either act I could not say, as I had been too afraid to ask.

His vehemence at my suggestion was most unexpected, and did not much abate from repetition. I fear I used this against him whenever I was too close to giving in, knowing his distaste for me doing what he planned. He is a quick study.

Holmes is also more devious than any den of foxes. Having found one route cut off, he made a most unexpected bridge to cross. I had suggested intercrural both as a substitution for Holmes' less frequent inclination, and an appeasement to my own conscience. He quickly curtailed the first and only begrudgingly allowed the second. So, I was slightly surprised when he applied the cool cream and slid between my thighs. Probably more surprised than when, knowing I was well distracted, he transfixed himself upon me.

There is a world of difference between a reflection in a glass and seeing something direct, and for the first time I was seeing Holmes as we did this. Radiant. That we could kiss fully completed the perfection.

Holmes slumped forward spent and I settled his head into the crook of my shoulder. It is truly amazing how much his face changes by his mood. He stirred a little, and I held him tighter. "You will have it your way, won't you?" I had been a fool, and was glad Holmes had navigated us past it. "I'm yours to use. Just..." He nudged me and I finished my thought. "Just keep stripping." It may be seldom Holmes laughs and it doesn't bode ill for someone, but no peals are sweeter.


End file.
